starcrossings
by noizssexappeal
Summary: he is a flighty one, and she cannot help but wonder.


**i.**

there's a bit of a legend among the circle -

(and it's less of a _legend_ and more of an _annoyance_ perhaps, as the templars might tell you.)

- but anyway, a _maybe_ sort of **kind of **legend. and it, as most legends unfortunately do in these times, starts with a boy.

but see, legends are spread by word of mouth and paper and maybe we don't know exactly _where _this boy of legend starts (he _is _a flighty one), but there is a girl who knows the legend better than most and we might just find the true tale with her.

**ii. **

she is a girl of only twelve when the unthinkable happens. the impenetrable fortress that holds her prisoner (but it's warm, and the food is _alright_, and some of the other kids are nice. sometimes.) but anyway, her prison's walls have been breached. there is a boy, she will learn his name through infamy amongst the templars and apprentices alike, and he has escaped.

not once. (he was dragged back, allegedly, kicking and screaming and spitting in the templars' faces. she thinks she really would have liked to see_ that_.)

not twice.

but thrice.

the templars are in a tizzy, all seemingly more irate than usual. knight commander greagoir is demanding that reinforcements from other cities take part in the search, and first enchanter irving is walking about looking like he's suffering from a serious migraine.

he still smiles warmly at our heroine of sorts, and pats her on the head when she grasps the concept of arcane bolts, _finally. _but more than that, he seems to be filled with worry.

she asks him about the boy, the escape artist, and he gives her a stern look; a warning. she readily informs him that she is not, in fact, suicidal and would like to live to at least see her teenage years so she will not make plans for an escape just yet, and that makes him laugh.

he tells her the boy's name is anders. irving paints him out to be a mischievous trouble maker and not the criminal mastermind the templars seem convinced that he is.

she asks if she will ever meet this 'anders' and irving merely offers her a tight smile.

**iii.**

the boy named anders has grown to be her personal hero, essentially taking the place previously held by irving himself. they found him, again, apparently. the rumor about the halls of the circle this time is that he found himself running amuck some forest or another and ran right into a city full of a trained templars awaiting him.

tragic, really.

they've got him in solitary now, she thinks, from what she hears from templars and gossiping apprentices.

she is sixteen now and it does her no good wondering just how lonely it must be to be confined to pure solitude. it gets lonely in the tower, sure, when the other girls her age refuse to treat her nicely because she's an _elf _and doesn't really understand them most of the time. but, she imagines, solitary must be a living nightmare even compared to the time she woke up with chewing gum plopped in her hair once.

she thinks she wants to save her hero, just this once, but fails to come up with a proper plan. and before she can despair any longer, he's already gone.

**iiii.**

uldred is dead.

she feels a bit sick, still. blood magic and the occult has always unsettled her, as it should be, perhaps. feeling as though she needs to empty her insides, she ignores irving's tired eyes and bolts out of the harrowing chamber and spends a while being properly sick in one of the mage dormitory bathrooms.

wynne and irving find her soon after, tell her that her companions are assisting knight commander greagoir with the_...clean up_, for lack of better word. wynne attempts to heal her, but this kind of sick and hurt cannot be cured by magic, no matter how potent the healing may be.

she is ghostly pale, sickly looking when she is escorted by them back to the entrance. greagoir gives a half-nod in her direction, the most acknowledgement she supposes she will get. all she can think is

jowanjowanjowanjowan.

it could have been jowan

and her heart really hurts, and her legs don't seem to understand she doesn't _want _to fall to her knees right now. but she does. irving kneels next to her and smiles indulgently, as if knowing what he will say next will clear the fog clouding her spirit.

"he's managed to do it again...i don't know how, but he did it."

neria remembers smiling before everything goes dark.

**iiiii.**

she is the hero of ferelden now, an honor bestowed upon her in light of her final sacrifice. there will be bards singing of her for ages,

(even if she_ was _a mage and previously seen as a dirty blemish on the world; a potential abomination and nothing more.)

oh they'll sing, and they'll sing and they'll sing until their throats run dry and perhaps one day those songs will find a man in an apothecary and he'll wonder just what he might have made of the heroine himself had they ever met.

* * *

><p><strong>(an) **this was gonna have a happy ending where they meet and gush about how cool they both are but then i was like nah nah nah nah.


End file.
